It needed not much guessing to decide that it was here that Terence Gorman's murderer had lurked that fatal night, and that here Paddy Corkill would come to find his victim this morning.
As I came to the top of a hill that gave a distant view of the road by which the traveller would approach, my heart leaped to my mouth.

For there, not a mile and a half away, appeared, in a break of the mist, a black speck, which I knew well enough to be his honour's gig.

In half- an-hour or less it would reach the fatal spot, and I could barely hope to reach it before him.

The ground in front of me was littered with boulders, and in places was soft with bog.

Rapid progress was impossible.